Life of a Squib
by Xanthoros
Summary: I've always envied muggles because they are ignorant. There is magic in this world, but they never realize it. But I see it. I see the magic all around us. I know its there, but I can never have it.


**The Life of a Squib**

**~Xanthoros

* * *

**

"It's unfortunate," they like to say. "It's so unfortunate."

They look at me like I'm some accident they've come across. A train wreck in human form. It's only common courtesy to say some platitude when happening by a car pile-up on the interstate. "How horrible!" "The family must be in such pain." "If only there was something we could do…"

They don't tend to speak to me directly. They say their condescending words to my mother instead, casting glances my way and shaking their heads. Mother, unlike me, seems to appreciate the sentiment. She comes to me afterward and gently pats me on the head. "Would you like to meet some new friends, Igraine?" She pulls me over before I reply and introduces me. They fumble as they ask me questions, unsure of what someone like me would be interested in. After several awkward moments they take their leave, and I forget them. My mother pats me on the head again and tells me to run along and play in the living room. Where mummy can see you. Do whatever it is that you want.

Because Igraine Corner is a Squib, and no one knows what she wants.

They understand as much about Squibs as they do about Muggleborns. "It just happens." That's their explanation, and apparently it satisfies them. But it's different with Muggleborns. They indoctrinate them into their society and fix them up so that they can relate. So they understand them. But Squibs like myself can never fit in with their society. And because of our families, we never can truly find our place in muggle society, always separate from the simple knowledge that magic exits.

Squibs are destined to a life in the middle.

I've always envied muggles because they are ignorant. There is magic in this world, but they never realize it. It lives around them, unnoticed. They don't feel left out because they don't know they are. But I see it. I see the magic all around us. I know its there, but I can never have it.

A Squib is always left out, separate even from family.

My little brothers come home from school during the summer. I listen from the staircase as they frantically speak about their lives. "Our new teacher showed us this wicked spell that…" "They got this huge statue of a frog that tries to eat you every time you walk past…" "My socks tried to eat the cat this morning, can you believe…" Father laughs and mother fusses while trying to hold back a giggle. They're in their own little world there, chatting so casually about things the normal people could never understand.

But at the dinner table it's quiet, only interrupted by mundane comments on the food. Kay and Haemon were always strictly warned by mother to keep quiet, and so they eat silently, casting looks at each other. Because Igraine is there, and Igraine is a Squib. Instead, father asks me how my school year went. I mumble something uninspired under my breath. For all the same reasons; they're all wizards. Why bother explaining logarithms to people who never even heard of algebra? To someone who will never need algebra, because they have magic powers.

Big brother Laius comes home very late. He works at the Ministry of Magic and is a very busy man. He shows the little brothers bright little charms and makes the teacups dance on the coffee table. He lets me watch sometimes, perhaps when mother's not pestering and father is in a tolerant mood. I don't comment as he plays around, taking little Haemon's requests or giving Kay advice. I look at the spells he performs blankly. They only serve to fascinate me in their pointlessness. Magic is such a powerful force, and it is wasted in dancing tea cups and singing doilies.

Perhaps the normal world has make me pragmatic and cynical, but I see wizards and witches as such foolish people.

Why create such enchantments? Purely for entertainment? You'd think they'd wait to develop such pointless diversions until after they'd taken care of all the actual problems. They don't even understand the world we live in. Wizards separate themselves from the normal world, but they never seem to realize they still share the planet. Many cannot properly operate telephones or work with muggle money. They continue to light candles and write on parchment, when the pen and paper invented by the muggles is infinitely more efficient. Apparently they couldn't be bothered to properly learn something new, reach beyond the realms of their self-imposed lives in their little bubbles.

I manage, even though I had to teach myself.

I didn't actually start school until I was eight. Up until then, they expected me to be just like them. They never thought their precious little daughter, small Igraine, would be a Squib. Surely, such a thing would never happen. But as I grew older, no magic revealed itself. My mother wouldn't believe it until she called for a Healer, of all things, to look at me. As if I were sick and needed to be cured. But the Healer could do nothing but give my mother that horrible diagnosis: She's a Squib. Completely incurable. Abandon all hope. "I'm sorry."

I start third grade at eight. Three years behind. Three years too dumb for third grade. The kids on the playground laugh at me because I do not understand. Mother never taught me muggle things. Why would a to-be witch need to learn those things? They laugh when I look at a computer for the first time, mesmerized and frightened. They laugh when I stare puzzled at the overhead machine. They nearly choke on their own shouts of glee when I insist my parents can do magic, and that they are a wizard and witch. I do not understand yet. I do not realize that they are normal, and in this element I am a freak. I do not realize that now I am a freak at home, too. Because I am a Squib, and they are neither witch nor muggle. And they can never be either.

But seven years later, I understand. I've learned how the normal world works. I can fit myself in there, if I just pretend. Pretend not to know what my classmates can't understand. Pretend to understand science when I see it defied everyday. Pretend everything makes sense when nothing does.

School will start soon, and my little brothers will leave. They're pleased, I can tell. They can go back to school and use their magic. Go to that place where they are welcomed. They don't have to be here and suffocate themselves because of Igraine. They won't have to tiptoe around me like I'm fragile. Because at school, they are free to be themselves, whereas this house is nothing but a prison cell. There is no right thing to do here, because everything is wrong. All locked up and put away. But it struggles in its cage. It screams and weeps. We ignore it anyway.

The weeks pass. The train will leave tomorrow morning. I go to see them off every year, though Laius doesn't anymore and says his farewells at home. I go because mother says its important that I'm there. To prove she's not ashamed. Not ashamed that her daughter isn't getting on that train. Not ashamed that Igraine isn't off for what should be her fifth year at the magic school. Not ashamed that she spawned a Squib.

The house is quiet, without even the rush of packing noises my little brothers make. There is not hushed conversation between my parents. No flick of my father's newspaper, no yelling from my mother at my siblings to be quiet about their excitement. No laughter, no humming from older brother Laius.

It's just quiet. Almost normal.

My mother enters my room and pats me on the head as she always does. "Igraine, would you like to meet some new friends?" She leads me downstairs. There are more people I've never met, all whispering the same meaningless condolences. "It's unfair." "How unlucky the circumstances." "If there's anything I can do, Michael…"

The atmosphere is unusually grim. Even though the thick of disappointment never truly leaves the air, it never morphed into something so grievous before. Mother sits me in a chair, her hand never leaving my hair. She introduces the guests, but their names vanish from memory as soon as she says them. They are unimportant.

"We love you, Igraine," Mother says, kissing the top of my head. She never bothered with such shows before. I can only wonder what these guests signify to need a performance. Perhaps they'll think, 'What a good woman. Given a Squib for a daughter, but she loves her all the same.' Mother loves, but does not understand. It's a struggle that never should exist.

The little brothers are here, and Laius as well. Father, too, stands solemnly. A little gathering of the family that hides, showing the guests there is nothing to fear.

Father comes to kiss my head, too. "A father only wants to see his children happy," he mummers against my hair, and the unease becomes unmistakable. There is something wrong. Something too final in the movements of my family.

A stranger moves her wand, but spell she casts I do not recognize. It's not painful, only disorienting. Everything seems to be falling from my grasp. I hear mother sniffle, and father give a soft goodbye. But they are slipping, falling away…

* * *

Dad laughs I point at the poodle. I frown in annoyance. "No way!" he says, instead indicating a temperamental looking bulldog. "Now _that_ is a stuffed animal that really inspires confidence!" I roll my eyes.

"I want the poodle," I say definitively, picking up the fluffy stuffed dog. I stick my tongue out at him. "And it's _my _back-to-school gift, so I get to choose." Dad gives an over-dramatic sigh, but buys it all the same. He takes me to the car as we pass people by, snippets of their conversations reach my ears.

"I still like the pink one…"

"Don't you understand, Jim? I specifically told you to…"

"Not a lot of good articles, loads of squibs, really…"

I don't understand it when the word 'squib' fills me with a deep sense of displacement. Like something is off, wrong… I've forgotten something vitally important. It's hard to stop the sudden rush of sadness, pulling and stinging. I need something, though I can't remember what it is.

"We better get home, your mom's making us dinner and you know how she… are you alright?"

If I could only remember what it is I need, what was torn horribly from reality, missing and aching so obviously.

"Igraine?" I look up at the sound of my name and see the concern on his face.

"Nothing. Just a…."

"Ah… the post-shopping depression. Nothing to be ashamed of, no, there's nothing to be ashamed of, it happens to the best of us."

I punch him lightly in the arm as he laughs, and I can't help but laugh, too. I know he understands in his own way. I can't remember what happened just now, but I know that it doesn't matter. There's nothing truly missing here, as there is nothing missed.

Because Igraine Henry is a strong girl, and she has what she needs.


End file.
